


it doesn't help to know you're just time away

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Long-Distance Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: It's Serena's birthday and she knows she's getting a video call from Bernie





	it doesn't help to know you're just time away

**Author's Note:**

> I said on tumblr that I'd write lil things for Serena's birthday (a day late) and then this turned into a 2k thing that I didn't want to post on tumblr! I make my own rules! Thanks to the various prompts that made this one.

Serena taps the screen of her tablet impatiently, waiting for the telltale sound of the video chat notification, the one that always makes her heart beat a little faster, the one that lets her know she’s about to hear Bernie, to see her. It’s not enough, it never will be, but it will get them through. She arranges herself slightly, adjusts the robe she has wrapped around her; the last time she tried to surprise Bernie with naughty lingerie, Bernie happened to call in the midst of a rowdy poker game, wanting to show off her beautiful girlfriend to her compatriots, and they got quite an eyeful. 

The beautiful chime signals, and Serena slides to accept the call, beaming at the slightly pixelated sight of Bernie Wolfe. “Happy birthday!” she crows, her husky voice welcome and soothing, wrapping around Serena even though she’s miles and miles away. And then she fully takes in the sight of Serena in a robe and lets out a low whistle. “And I thought you were the one getting presents.” 

“Tit for tat, I’ve always said,” Serena answers, and Bernie laughs, that lovely half-guffaw of hers. She shrugs off the robe fully, sitting in front of her screen in little more than pants and a bra, the sheer material holding it all together leaving almost nothing to the imagination. “What do you think?” 

“I think you know what I think,” Bernie says, and Serena has to resist the urge to roll her eyes, knows Bernie isn’t quite good at complimenting yet, knows it’s something she’s working on, has promised Serena she’ll try. “How’s your birthday been?” Bernie asks, changing tacks slightly, conversationally, even as she unbuttons the shirt she’s wearing, lets it hang open and loose, giving Serena the barest glimpse of the plain cotton bra she’s got on underneath.

“Oh, fine,” she says, waving her hand, “Nothing out of the ordinary - except the strangest thing. Ric and I were at Albie’s this evening and this woman - this _girl_ \- came out of nowhere, sidled up to us and bought me a drink!” She says this, expecting to see shock on Bernie’s face, expecting something, and all she gets is Bernie’s blank stare. “She couldn’t have been much older than Charlotte, Bernie! What’s she doing buying me drinks?” 

“Are you serious?” Bernie asks, blinking once, twice. Serena nods mutely. “Do you not know how gorgeous you are?” Serena can feel her face warm, the blush moving across her cheeks. 

“I know _you_ think I’m gorgeous but it’s hardly an opinion shared by the rest of the population.” Serena looks down at her hands, feels a bit silly now, feeling vulnerable for the first time for all that she’s sat there in lacy pants. 

“Well it’s at least shared by me and the girl at the bar,” Bernie says. “And didn’t you say Ric asked why you two never got together? So he’s a third. There was that fellow at that gala you went to - the waiter who couldn’t stop gushing about your work? If you use us as sampling data for the world at large, I think you’ll find you’re doing quite well for yourself.” She folds her arms, resting her case, looking quite pleased at herself and Serena wishes she could kiss the expression off Bernie’s face. 

“I’m not used to women buying me drinks, I suppose,” Serena concedes with a small shrug. 

“Because you got snapped up by a very intelligent person the minute you expressed definite interest in the fairer sex,” Bernie laughs.

Serena arches an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, the minute I expressed definite interest in the fairer sex, someone hoofed it off to Ukraine.” She says it warmly, though, they’re past the guilt of it all, the worries, the fears. Bernie even smiles too, enough of a sign that it’s all fine now. 

“Yes, but they came back and proceeded to show you just how wonderful it was to be with a woman,” Bernie says and Serena can’t bite back the laugh that burbles out at that. 

“Awfully cocky, aren’t you?” Oh how she wishes she could just reach out and touch Bernie, just run her hands through that beautiful blonde hair. 

Bernie’s face turns serious, her features reorganizing themselves into a rather serious looking expression. “You - ah - you know that if you wanted to...to try something different, or new, or go back to...go back to what it was before me - I don’t want to stand in the way of that. You’ve only ever had me and...what if you want more?” She looks a bit helpless, like she didn’t plan on saying all that, like maybe it’s been at the back of her mind and just escaped out of her. That’s how it is with Bernie, Serena’s found, never long talks when they’ve both the time, but rather a surprise of feelings at the strangest time. Like during a birthday chat when her anatomy is very clearly pointing out the chill in the room. 

“Darling, you’re more than enough for me,” she says, sees that it still isn’t reassuring Bernie, the little wrinkle between her brows showing her consternation more than anything else. “I don’t want anything else. You know what I thought when that girl bought me a drink? ‘I wonder what it would be like to get chatted up by Bernie in a pub.’ You’re what I think about, what I fantasize about, you’re like my dreams coming true.”

“Me too,” Bernie says after a moment, a little gruffly, not meeting Serena’s eyes, and she knows that’s as good as she’ll get for now, knows the millions of words hiding behind just those two. 

“Now. Speaking of fantasizing,” Serena leans forward, her arms pushing her chest up and out and she has to force her gaze away from the view of herself or she knows she’ll get distracted, embarrassed, self-conscious. “It is my birthday.”

Bernie rights herself, looks at Serena, not even the slightly shaky connection can hide the flush in her cheeks, the darkening of her eyes. “It is,” she concedes. “Perhaps you need some inducement to keep unwrapping?” 

“I believe I said it’s tit for tat, if you’ll remember.” Serena looks at Bernie expectantly, is rewarded by the shrugging off of her top, loves the sight of all of Bernie’s bare skin, sees the place on her neck that she just wants to lick, right where her pulse is jumping slightly. 

Bernie has never had any shyness about undressing or changing, but she is completely different when there’s pressure to be sexual about it, and it’s plain that she’s slightly uncomfortable as she crosses her arms to pull her sports bra off over her head. “It’s just me, dearest,” Serena reminds her gently, when Bernie’s half-naked and sitting in front of her once more, her hair slightly mussed from shedding clothes. “It’s just me, and I don’t want anything but what you are.” 

Bernie looks slightly mollified and Serena obliges her by slipping the straps off her shoulders, her breasts still cupped by fabric, holding on by wishes and magic. “I’d straddle you, right there,” Serena says, in a low voice. “One hand on each shoulder. And I’d kiss the life of out of you, just kiss and kiss you. No other way to keep you quiet and I know how thin those walls are.” She can see Bernie’s throat move as she swallows, slow and deep. 

“I’d - I’d slide my hands under that,” Bernie awkwardly gestures at Serena’s lacy garment and she runs her own hands up her sides, bringing the fabric with her. “Yes,” Bernie breathes, “and then I’d follow with my mouth, pressed to your stomach. You know how warm and soft and lovely -” she stops, as if she’s not quite sure how to finish. Serena smiles, nods. 

“My hands would tangle up in your hair,” Serena says, and that’s not a surprise to Bernie - they both know how Serena loves those golden strands, can’t keep her hands away from them. “I’d press myself against you, against your thigh, and let you undress me.” She follows her own instructions, taking off the lacy and silk, tossing it somewhere behind her. Looking at Bernie, both of them bare-chested, a flush to their cheeks, slightly quicker breaths. “I’d slide my hand between us.” 

Serena can see Bernie’s hand creep down to the elastic of her pants, just slipping past, and she stops, waiting for Serena to continue. “Yes, I’d put it right there, I’d feel just how wet you were, how wet being that close to me makes you.” She can see the outline of Bernie’s fingers cupping herself, hears the slight grunt at the contact. “I’d swipe right through all that wetness with my fingers and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from licking my fingers clean.” Serena licks her own lips as she watches Bernie’s tongue dart out to touch the tips of her fingers, to taste the salty, musky juice that she so loves. She can’t stop the hum that escapes her. 

“And I’d kiss the taste off you,” Bernie says, “and I wouldn’t let you get a headstart on me. I’d slide my fingers right into you and I’d swallow the gasp I know you’d make.” Serena can’t deny she’s biting her own lip to keep from making another noise as her own hand slides down, as she inserts one finger, then two, moving back slightly on the sofa, moving back so Bernie can see. 

The first few times they tried this, it felt silly and strange, and Serena hadn’t known quite what to do. But, as with everything in her life, she wanted to be the best, practiced what she’d say to Bernie, got herself off on her own, thought about how she’d describe it. And Bernie, bless her heart, was a willing participant, more than happy to try as many times as Serena wanted, more than happy to tell her how beautiful she was, how sexy, how much she wanted to kiss her, to taste her, to touch her. Serena felt strange about baring so much of herself to a screen, but now all she can see is Bernie’s dark eyes and tanned skin, how she’s slightly slack-jawed at the sight of Serena in front of her, and there’s a certain power, a certain allure, in that. 

“Like this?” Serena asks, her voice low, ragged. Her eyes are half-lidded as she plays with herself, runs her thumb back and forth across her clit while she dips her fingers in and out, her other hand coming up to her breast, to toy with her nipples, already hard peaks. She hears Bernie’s grunt of affirmation, knows how much Bernie loves her breasts, pinches the dusky nipple and hears another grunt from the tablet. 

“My mouth would be where your fingers are, my teeth pulling right there, right against your breast” Bernie says and she sounds raspy. For all the practice, Serena feels like they still don’t do this enough, that there is no enough, thinks she could do this every day and still get just as wet for Bernie at the drop of a hat. 

“Where else would your mouth be?” Serena asks, continuing to string herself out, to move her fingers in a jagged rhythm, her head tipped back, not even looking at Bernie, content to hear her voice, to picture her there on the couch, to picture them together. 

“Between your legs,” Bernie says, never the most eloquent with her words. “I’d lick you for every year you’ve been alive, until you screamed my name, and then I’d do it again.” But, Serena reflects, she rather gets the job done. “I’d suck at you, pull you into my mouth, and your hands would be in my hair, and you’d hold me there, and I wouldn’t need anything else.” She is earnest and sure, and Serena can almost _almost_ feel her mouth, her warm breath. 

She pinches her clit, a jolt of pleasure running straight through her, one more thrust of her fingers, hard and fast, and she pants out Bernie’s name. When she opens her eyes, looks at Bernie once more, she sees a pink-cheeked, wild-eyed woman, and wishes she could kiss those lips that have suffered abuse from their owner, bitten to keep from crying out. 

“Happy birthday, Serena,” Bernie says softly, reaches her hand out to the tablet like she wants to touch her, and Serena mirrors the gesture, their fingers touching the only way they can. “I love you.” 

“I can’t wait to see how we’ll celebrate fifty-four,” Serena says.

“Together,” Bernie promises. “We’ll celebrate together.” 


End file.
